A War of Gifts: An Ender Story

hellish lust!”
    And so on. And so on.
    In Zeck’s mind, the clock that kept perfect time went round the full forty minutes of the sermon. Father never repeated himself once, and yet he also never strayed from the single message. God’s message was always brief, Father said, but it took him many words to translate the pure wisdom of the Lord’s language into the poor English that mere mortals could understand. And Father’s sermons never ran over. He wrapped them up right in time. He was not a man who talked just to hear himself talk. He labored his labor and then he was done. At the end of the sermon, there was a hymn and then Father called upon old Brother Verlin and told him that God had seen him today and made his heart pure enough to pray. Verlin rose to his feet weeping and could hardly get out the words of the prayer of blessing on the congregation, he was so moved at being chosen for the first time since he confessed selling an old car of his for nearly twice what it was worth, because the buyer had tempted him by offering even more for it. His sin was forgiven, more or less. That’s what it meant, for Brother Habit to call on him to pray. Then it was done. Zeck leapt to his feet and ran to his father and hugged him, as he always did, for it felt to him when such a sermon ended that some dust of light from heaven must linger still on Father’s clothing, and if Zeck could embrace him tightly enough, it might rub off on him, so that he could begin to become pure. Because heaven knew he was not pure now.
    Father loved him at such times. Father’s hands were gentle on his hair, his shoulder, his back; there was no willow rod to draw blood out of his shirt.
    “Look, son,” said Father. “We have a stranger here in the House of the Lord.”
    Zeck pulled free to look at the door. Others had noticed the man, too, and stood looking at him, silent until Habit Morgan declared him to be friend or foe. The stranger wore a uniform, but it wasn’t one that Zeck had seen before-not the sheriff or a deputy, not a fireman, not the state police.
    “Welcome to the Church of the Pure Christ,” said Father. “I’m sorry you didn’t arrive for the sermon.”
    “I listened from outside,” said the man. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
    “Then you did well,” said Father, “for you heard the word of God, and yet you listened with humility.”
    “Are you Reverend Habit Morgan?” asked the man.
    “I am,” said Father, “except we have no titles among us except Brother and Sister. ‘Reverend’
    suggests that I’m a certified minister, a hireling. No one certified me but God, for only God can teach his pure doctrine, and only God can name his ministers. Nor am I hired, for the servants of God are all equal in his sight, and must all obey the admonition of God to Adam, to earn his bread by the sweat of his face. I farm a plot of ground. I also drive a truck for United Parcel Service.”
    “Forgive me for using an unwelcome title,” said the man. “In my ignorance, I meant only respect.”
    But Zeck was a keen observer of human beings, and it seemed to him that the man had already known how Father felt about the title “reverend,” and he had used it deliberately. This was wrong. This was a pollution of the sanctuary. Zeck ran from Father to stand a few feet in front of the man.
    “If you tell the truth right now,” Zeck said boldly, fearing nothing that this man could do to him, “God will forgive you for your lie and the sanctuary will be purified again.”
    The congregation gasped. Not in surprise or dismay; they assumed that it was God speaking through him at times like this, though Zeck never claimed any such thing. He denied that God ever spoke through him, and beyond that he could not control what they believed.
    “What lie was that?” asked the man, amused.
    “You know all about us,” said Zeck. “You’ve studied our beliefs. You’ve studied everything about Father. You know that it’s an offense to call him ‘reverend.’ You did it on purpose, and now you’re lying to pretend you meant respect.”
    “You’re correct,” said the man, still amused. “But what possible difference does it make?”
    “It must have made a difference to you,” said Zeck, “or you wouldn’t have bothered to lie.”
    By now Father stood behind him, and his hand on Zeck’s head told him he had said enough and it was Father’s turn now.
    “Out of the mouths of babes,” said Father to the